Fiona: The Client
by Petunia846
Summary: AU fic for a LJ ficathon. Fiona is taken to Ireland during "Long Way Back" and Sam and Michael go after her.
1. Chapter 1

_**New A/N**: I noticed FF is being weird about the breaks between scenes, so I'm reuploading the chapters to redo them. Sorry in advance if this bumps the story back up to the top. Not trying to be a diva, just trying to get the formatting right. :)_

_**A/N**__: Let's get all this author's note stuff out of the way so you can focus on the story…_

_I don't usually write AU fic, but this is my piece for __**wickedpissaa**__ as part of __**winter_deaddrop**__'s AU ficathon and I kind of love it. My prompt was, "Fiona is taken to Ireland and Sam and Mike go after her." I was pleasantly surprised with how nicely the story fell into place._

_Many many thanks to __**jebbypal**__ and __**karendipitee**__ for betaing such a big project. Superduper extra thanks to __**karendipitee**__ for also being a sounding board for ideas right from the beginning. She constantly challenged my assumptions of where the story had to go and it turned out ten times better for that. I learned so much researching for this fic, it was a lot of fun. If you're at all interested in Ireland, I totally recommend Lonely Planet's book __Irish Language and Culture__. It's cheap and adorably tiny but packed with fun and helpful information._

_Anyway, I don't usually say this, because I think it goes without saying, but thanks to Nix and the actors for letting me play with their characters. I learned a lot about writing after practicing with this fic and feel much more confident now to start working on some of my own, original ideas._

_To prepare yourself to read, I would recommend rewatching "Long Way Back" up until the point where Michael leaves Strickler's condo after shooting him. That is where we pick things up here…_

**Fiona: The Client**

**Chapter 1**

Michael stalked out of Strickler's condo and dialed Sam's number. The seething rage that had just forced his finger to pull the trigger still burned deep inside of him.

"Sam, listen to me," he spoke quickly and curtly. "Strickler arranged for O'Neill to get out of the US on a cargo ship. He's been making regular calls to a charter fishing house on Key Biscayne."

"Well that must be where O'Neill has Fi," Sam said. "It's perfect. Those places are secluded, they've got private docks…"

"Perfect place to load a prisoner onto our transport boat. How's Sean?"

"He's finally stable," Sam replied.

"I'm coming to get you." Michael tossed the phone and the gun in the passenger seat, climbed in, and took off.

...

_When you're a spy, you need to learn to control your emotions. You might pretend to be angry or depressed or just plain crazy, but underneath the act you need to be the one in control. When you lose your cool, that's when things start to go wrong. And when you're a spy…things can go very, very wrong._

...

The Charger rolled to a stop in a grassy picnic area a fair distance away from the fishing house in question. Michael and Sam climbed out and scanned the building and the docks with binoculars. From all outward appearances, it was just another typically sunny, Miami day. A breeze blew the palm leaves gently back and forth and the water glistened delicately. Neither of them spotted any guards securing the grounds and there weren't any boats at the dock.

"You sure this is the right place?" Sam questioned.

"This is it, Sam," Michael lowered his binoculars in frustration. "This is the address for the number Strickler was calling."

"Mike, it doesn't look like anyone's here."

Michael started walking back around to the driver's side of the car. "Get back in the car, Sam."

"Mike? What?" he questioned but followed the orders anyway.

Michael revved the car's engine and then sped full force into the chain link gate blocking their entry onto the property. He and Sam ducked behind the dash as they came to a stop, guns drawn, ready to fight in case their entrance brought anyone out of the fishing house. When everything remained quiet after a few moments Michael got out and ran toward the building, completely ignoring Sam's cries to wait for cover.

Two swift shots blew out the lock on the door and Michael kicked it open, sweeping his gun over the room before stepping inside.

"Damn it, Mike!" Sam yelled as he caught up. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

"They're gone."

Sam could hear the twinge of panic in Michael's voice.

"Is this even the right place?" He tried to give Michael some hope. "Were they even here?"

"Look," Michael pointed out a water bottle and some empty foil-backed pill casings in the trash. He pulled the bottle out of the trash and shook it to point out the few drops of liquid that remained in the bottom of the bottle. "See that?" he asked Sam. The liquid was a bright blue color.

"I'm guessing that's not Gatorade." Sam whistled under his breath, "Rohypnol. Hell of a lot easier to get your prisoner from your fishing house to your transport ship, and then onto your cargo boat when she's too drugged up to protest."

"We're too late," Michael threw the bottle back into the trash and then kicked the can into the wall, leaving a sizable crack in the cheap, plastic container.

"This isn't over, Mike. We can still find her. We can still get her back," Sam tried to force his voice into its most assured tone even though he knew just as well as Michael how tenuous the situation was.

Michael pressed a thumb against the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Yeah…yeah. You're right," he nodded at Sam. "Let's give this place a once over and then get out of here."

...

The drive back to Michael's mother's house felt longer than it should have given the speed Michael was going. They hadn't even gotten out of the car at Maddie's house before she threw open the front door.

"Michael!" she called. "Did you find her?"

The emotion in Michael's eyes as he looked over the roof of the car told her clearly that their mission to rescue Fiona had not been successful. "Sam?" she whispered as he approached her.

"Not yet, Maddie," was all he said before slipping inside to see if Sean was awake.

Michael retrieved the bag of rifles from the trunk of the car. The bomb they had planned to plant on O'Neill's boat and the dive gear sat in there too, almost mocking him. He'd come back for them later.

Maddie stood on the porch, waiting for Michael, the cigarette in her fingers forgotten and dripping ash on the cement stoop. "Michael," she whispered sadly with tears forming in her eyes. He stood there in front of her, holding the large bag over his shoulder. "What…?" she couldn't quite bring herself to finish the question.

Michael sighed heavily. "We were too late. They'd been there, but they were already gone."

A quiet, "Oh," was the only response she could muster. She laid a hand on his cheek and looked in his eyes. She saw an all too familiar pain there, the terrible, soul-cutting, backbreaking pain that she used to see when she'd bring a bag of frozen peas to his room after a fight with his father. In all the time that he'd been back in Miami, she'd never seen that look in his eyes until now. Not even when Sam was missing and they'd been holed up in a godforsaken foreclosure that Nate had called home. At least then he'd had a plan, had confidence that he could execute it successfully. Here he looked hopeless and it made her eyes brim over with tears.

"Ma…I…" he motioned for her to let him in the house.

She choked the tears back just enough to say, "Oh, yeah…sorry," and stepped aside.

He set the bag of guns down on the dining room table and she shut the door behind him. "I'll be right back," she muttered as she passed him and headed back to her bedroom to collect herself.

Sam was in the sunroom talking to Sean, who lay stretched out on the couch, his chest wrapped in gauze and ace bandages to keep some pressure on his wounds.

"What do you mean they're gone?" Sean asked. His voice was a little too loud and a little too angry to be healthy for someone who'd so recently escaped death.

"Sean, calm down," Sam tried to settle him. "This is not over, we still have some moves we can make. We're going to find your sister."

Michael walked over to them and Sean glared at him. "So, it's Westen now?" he said. "I trusted you." He used what little strength he had at the moment to lift an arm and point a finger at Michael. "I trusted you back in Ireland and I trusted you to take care of my sister here…look what you let them do to her. You were a liar then and a disgrace now." His voice cracked and he was forced to let his arm fall back to his side. "I should've taken my shot at O'Neill earlier when I had the chance."

Sam noted with growing concern the set of Michael's jaw and the tightness in his breath.

"Oh?" Michael said to Sean, barely restraining his anger. "And what good would that have done, besides getting all of us killed by his men?"

"We could have taken them out, Fiona and me together. Hell, even Fi could have taken them out by herself!" He was pushing himself up off the couch, into Michael's face. "You were supposed to take care of her! You-"

"I thought _you_ were supposed to take care of her," Michael yelled back. "What? You came all the way over from Ireland just to get shot full of holes? You could've saved us all the trouble and just stayed home for that!"

"HEY!" Sam finally yelled and pushed himself between them. Sean's breath was coming in loud, wheezing inhalations and Michael was visibly shaking. "That's enough! Michael, go sit down," he pointed to the couch across the room and Michael glared at him but followed the order.

"Now," Sam continued. "Screaming at each other is not going to help us find Fi. Sean, Michael and I found a water bottle at the boat house that had been laced with Rohypnol." Sean sputtered and tried to sit up again but Sam pushed him gently back into the pillows. "No, that's a good thing," Sam said, trying to sound upbeat. "It means they haven't killed her and they're not planning to kill her anytime soon."

Michael continued to glare at him for being so confident with his theories but admitted to himself that Sam was right. "If that's the case," Michael continued for Sam, "then he must be going ahead with the plan to bring her to auction. He either doesn't realize anything has happened to Strickler or he doesn't care."

"Right," Sam agreed. "He probably doesn't care what happens to Strickler anyway as long as he's got Fi and can get out of the country."

Michael went on, "Strickler said he hired a cargo shipping company to get O'Neill and his crew out into international waters. If we could follow him, we could intercept the ship and get Fiona before it's too late."

"Mike, it's probably already too late for that," Sam said. "Our best bet would be to have someone intercept the cargo ship when it docks in Ireland. It'll take them at least a week to sail that far."

"You're right, Sam. I'm gonna have to get over there somehow."

"Whoa, wait Mikey! With your burn notice, you're not going anywhere. You try to leave Miami and the Feds'll be all over you. There's no way you're going to be able to do that."

"Yeah, Sam, there is." Michael stood up and ran for the door. "I'll be back. I'm gonna go see Lucy."

...

Lucy Chen, security consultant for a major commercial security firm in Miami and former spy, was absentmindedly checking her email during a meeting when a familiar voice in the lobby caught her attention.

"I'm sorry, sir," their receptionist was replying. "Without an appointment I'm afraid there's no way you're going to be able meet with Ms. Chen today." The receptionist raised her voice to speak over the man who was arguing with her. "There's nothing I can do, sir, she's in a meeting right now as we speak. If you would just tell me your name we could set up an appointment for next week and you could-"

Lucy looked around the room at her coworkers in the meeting. She smiled apologetically at them. "If you'll excuse me…" She gathered her things quickly and headed to the front desk.

"Sir, sir! It's just…I can't…I'm sorry, but!"

"Lucy!" Michael pounced on her like a starving lion who'd just spotted an antelope.

The death glare Lucy shot Michael silenced him at once. "It's okay, Sarah. I forgot I was doing some pro bono work this month," she gave the receptionist a knowing smile before turning back to Michael. "Come on back," she motioned for him to follow her.

She remained silent and completely professional as they walked down the corridors to her office. The glass walls of the offices allowed an easy view of sleek, modern furniture; lush, tropical plants; and the kind of technology Hollywood execs would dismiss as too over the top. She stopped finally at a door at the end of the hall and ushered him inside nonchalantly. After shutting the door firmly behind herself, she touched a computer panel off to the side that turned the clear glass walls of the office a frosted white. Another button responded with a chirp before she turned back to Michael and smacked him upside the head with her legal pad.

"God, Michael! What the hell is wrong with you? What was that out there? Have you completely lost it?"

He rubbed his head, surprised after the sudden attack. His head still ached from O'Neill's attack earlier. He refocused. "Lucy, I need your help. You've gotta help me."

"Michael, I'm not doing anything with you if you're like this. It's not safe and it's not going to be productive." She pointed to her private bathroom. "Go splash some water on your face and pull yourself together. I'm making you some tea."

The look on his face chilled her bones as he shuffled across the room. Not only was his behavior unsafe and unproductive, it was completely uncharacteristic of the man who had taught her so much in her early days in the field. She went to the phone on her desk and called up to the receptionist.

"Sarah? Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day, please."

At a company like Lucy's everyone knew better than to ask questions. "Yes, Ms. Chen," the receptionist answered simply.

Lucy was just heating the water for the tea when Michael reemerged from the bathroom. He still looked drained and dazed but at least he looked less frantic. She waved him to the couch. His complexion was shockingly close to the white leather.

"What's going on, Michael? You look terrible."

"They took Fiona," his voice was low and somber. He looked down at the floor between his feet. Lucy waited quietly for him to continue, her arms crossed cautiously over her chest. "There was a man who was trying to get me to work with him, Thomas Strickler. He was going to help me get back in, but…he didn't think that Fiona would help my case very much."

"That's understandable," Lucy said quietly.

Michael looked up at her intently. "Sure, maybe, but instead of letting me handle things, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He got in touch with an old enemy of Fiona and helped him kidnap her here. Fi's brother even came over to help, but they still got past us. They've got her and they're taking her back to Ireland to be auctioned off to her enemies…the highest bidder. I don't know how much you know about Fiona, but…"

"That's probably a lot of people," Lucy finished the thought for him.

"Lucy…I've got to get to her before anything happens. They're taking a cargo ship back to Ireland, so I've still got time. I just have to get out of Miami and get to her before the auction."

"And that's what you need my help for?" she surmised.

"Please, Lucy," his voice strained. "I know this is big, but you know what this means to me. She's…she's…" his voice was cracking too much to say any more.

Lucy tried to make her voice soothing, "I know, Michael, I know." She knew more than anyone else that he was still on good terms with what it meant to be a spy and to have to stay unattached, how sometimes that was unavoidable, and the troubles it caused.

She brought him a china cup full of warm, brown liquid. Holding it in his hands, Michael marveled at how easy it would be to tighten his fingers a little bit more and just crush it. It was so delicate, so unlike most of the things he filled his life with. It reminded him of Fiona, tiny and breakable, yet able to hold up under intense heat. Fiona was smart, strong, and resilient, but no matter how tough she fancied herself, there would always be a part of her that was tiny and breakable and that's what made her human and not some magical superhero. She would do whatever she had to do to survive, he knew that, but he needed to find her before anyone could break her beyond repair.

He didn't know exactly how long he'd been staring at the tea in his hands, but when he looked up Lucy was typing and clicking away on the computer, bringing up windows and shuffling papers around.

"Okay," she said, sensing his eyes on her. "I think I've figured out a way to get us onto one of our cargo flights tomorrow night. It's headed to St. Petersburg, but I can arrange for a stop-off wherever you need to go in Ireland."

"Us?" he questioned.

Lucy leaned across the desk to look at him. "Yes, Michael…_us_. There's no way I'm letting you and Sam walk into this alone. It sounds like you're going to need all the help you can get. Plus…I owe you."

He shook his head, trying to dissuade her, "Lucy, you know you don't owe me anything."

"Michael," she rolled her eyes at him. "Look at me. Look around." She held his gaze. "I owe all of this to you and what you taught me. Please let me help you."

His lips formed a thin, tight smile as he nodded. "Thanks, Lucy. Call Sam later to get things set up?"

"I will," she smiled. "See you tomorrow."

...

After his stop at Lucy's office Michael drove back to his mother's house to brief Sam on the situation and gather a few supplies. Sean was out cold, exhausted after the earlier fight.

"So Lucy's gonna come with us? That'll be helpful," Sam commented as he sipped a beer.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "Can you set up the details with her? I need to take care of a few things before we leave."

"No problem, Mike. I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow with Sean." He gave Michael a steady pat on the back and pushed a few pills into his hand. "Get some rest buddy. We're gonna need it."

Michael almost laughed at the understatement. "You too."

"Later."

Maddie found Michael as he was just finishing up some packing in the garage.

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Mom? What is it? I've gotta go."

"I know, Michael," she came over to lay an arm on his shoulder. "I just wanted to tell you, it's going to be all right." She felt the tightness he'd been holding in his shoulders for the past day release and he let his head hang down to his chest. She put the cigarette out in an ashtray and lifted his chin so he would look at her. "I'm not just saying that, Michael. I've been thinking today and I truly believe that this will all turn out all right. I mean, look at us," she motioned to the two of them. "Life can hand you a lot of shit, and Lord knows you and I have had enough for three lifetimes, but we're still here. We're still here and we're better than ever. It might be hard and painful but you'll get through this and be all right. We'll all be all right. Okay?"

He smiled…a tiny, sliver of a smile, but he smiled, and that was enough for her. "Thanks, Mom," he said, his voice low, and then pulled her in for a hug before turning to leave.

He was halfway across the yard when she ran out the door and yelled after him, "Michael!"

"Ma, I gotta go!"

"I know…just, don't forget to pack some clothes for her…for _when_ you've got her. She'll want some clean clothes…her own clothes."

He nodded, and the sliver of a smile turned into a grin. It was the first time he'd pictured her, really visualized her, free and fine…Fiona in his arms again, Fiona curled up next to him in bed, Fiona fighting with her brothers. "Yes…thanks! Thanks, Ma."

He was just about to slide into the driver's side when she yelled again, "And Michael!"

"Ma!" he slammed his fist on the roof of the Charger.

"I love you, Michael. You be careful, you hear me? And you tell Fiona I love her too, okay?"

"I will," he paused. "I'll see you soon."

Maddie waved him off and then sat down on the porch to have another cigarette. It was going to be a long two weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_People often have conflicting opinions about spies. On the one hand, it scares them to think they might not know the true intentions of the people they trust. People generally don't like to be lied to. On the other hand, people tend to glorify the spy. When you don't understand something it becomes magical. In their minds, spies can outrun bullets and walk through walls. The reality, of course, is somewhere in between, but when you're a spy you need to be prepared to deal with both sides of the misunderstood coin. _

...

After a shower and a good night's medically induced sleep, Michael was feeling more determined than frantic and more indignant than distraught. The trunk and the backseat of the Charger were full of bags of clothes for himself and Fiona, their favorite weapons, and almost their entire stock of ammunition. Practically the only explosive he wasn't bringing was O'Neill's bomb. That particular treasure had been strategically placed at Strickler's condo the night before, in hopes of implicating O'Neill in Strickler's murder.

The dark colored, fat-bellied plane sat in the enormous hangar with its rear doors wide open. Lucy was inside walking around with a pencil and a clipboard, her long, slick hair tied up in a ponytail. Her outfit reminded him more of a high school tomboy than the polished executive image she'd maintained lately.

"You sure you can handle the cargo hold again after so many years in first class?" he quipped, walking up the ramp with a cooler full of water and yogurt.

"It'll be fun," she answered, happy to see him looking more like himself. "Just like the good old days."

Michael looked around at all the giant crates and snuck a peek at the shipping manifest on her clipboard. "What's your operation in Russia doing? Supplying a small army?"

Lucy looked at him with a grin, "What? All this?" She ran her finger down the list past high-tech surveillance equipment that hadn't even been invented until after Michael had been burned, enough explosives to destroy a few city blocks, and a half dozen computers fast enough to give the NSA mainframe a run for its money. "_This_," she waved the page at him, "is for _us_." She flipped to the next page. "The only thing the Russian firm could afford from my company were some assault rifles and listening devices."

"Lucy," he looked at her with thanks spelled out across his face. "You don't have to do all this. Don't get yourself in trouble for us."

"Michael, we really should talk more often," she laughed. "Trust me, this is not a big deal. I pulled in a few favors, but nothing I can't handle. Let's get your stuff loaded up. Sam just called. He's almost here."

Michael smiled, dropped the cooler, and went to help Lucy unload the Charger.

...

The glow from a camping lantern cast an eerie light as it sat on top of the snack cooler. Sam, Lucy, and Michael sat around the cooler in some assorted lawn chairs Sam had borrowed from Maddie. The constant engine roar actually started to feel soothing after awhile. Sam was dozing, Lucy was reading, and Michael was cleaning Fi's H&K again. There were enough lights installed to have the place lit up as bright as the surface of the sun, but they'd chosen to keep it dim to help Sean sleep and encourage everyone else to rest as well.

Sean's voice was still rough and somewhat weak, but Michael heard him over the engines. "Michael," he called. "Get over here." An old military cot from Sam's storage space had been repurposed for the trip. They'd placed him a little ways over, behind some crates to keep from disturbing him with any conversation.

Michael fumbled through the maze of crates and made his way to stand next to Sean's cot. "Yeah, Sean? What is it?"

"Michael…I," he started. His face was largely obscured by shadows, but Michael could see that his eyes were a bit bright. "I want to apologize for the things I said to you earlier. I was angry and it wasn't right."

"It's fine," Michael tried to assure him. He was always eager to end discussions involving feelings or where to place blame. Sean's approach to conversation reminded Michael of Fiona's…straightforward and unavoidable.

"No, I was wrong," Sean pushed himself to continue. "I can see how much you love my sister, and how much she loves you." Michael looked down at his feet to avoid Sean's gaze. It could be just as penetrating as his sister's. "I don't know any other man who'd move mountains like this to get her back. I guess…what I'm sayin' is…it doesn't matter if you're a McBride or a Westen, you're one of us, and I appreciate how you're doin' right by my sister."

"Thank you, Sean," Michael glanced up at him again, feeling humbled by the sentiment. "I just hope, when we land, that the rest of your family feels the same way."

"Let me handle that," Sean assured him.

As Michael returned to work on the H&K, he saw Fiona's face with every click of the metal fitting back together. He considered the gun as he reassembled it. None of the pieces were anything particularly special or deadly on their own, but assembled in the right way and wielded with years of experience, they could be a powerful force against evil. He hoped, once they arrived in Ireland, that he'd be able to assemble an equally powerful team to get Fiona back.

...

There was not much that Fiona knew at the moment. She did not know where she was, nor the time of day, nor how she had gotten wherever she was…hands cuffed behind her back and head covered with a black bag. She did know that some combination of forces was making her head pound, that whatever she was lying on was not a bed, that it was rocking gently, and that footsteps were approaching. Each footstep brought new vibrations that rattled her head further.

A scraping metallic sound accompanied an increase in light through the black fabric. A strong hand gripped one of her upper arms, lifting her partially off the ground. The cuffs rattled and then came off, followed by the head bag.

She found herself face-to-face, with Thomas O'Neill and the events of the previous day came flooding back to her.

His eyes sparkled with delight as he threw her back into a corner and dropped half a sandwich and a bottle of water at her feet. Her head knocked against the metal wall as she fell, dazing her enough that she could make no move to stand or attack.

"Eat up, sweetheart," he advised.

Her mouth involuntarily asked the only question her mind was clear enough to articulate, "Michael?"

"Westen?" he tossed back his head and laughed. "He's gone. He can't help you now." O'Neill's laughter was the last thing she heard before he closed the door and the darkness closed in around her again.

...

"Ho there! Welcome home, brother." The enormous doors of the cargo hold opened into the darkness of a damp Irish evening to reveal a tall, gangly man standing next to a motorcycle. He had a smile as troubling as that of his sister right before she pushed a detonator button.

Sam rolled Sean down the ramp in a beat up wheelchair, then returned to the hold to help Lucy and Michael carry things out.

"Rory," Sean exclaimed. "A sight for sore eyes!" Rory reached down to clap his brother on the back, leading Sean to grimace and smile at the same time. They'd landed in a remote area in the southwestern portion of the country, near where the Glenannes had grown up. Sean had arranged permission for them to use the old airstrip through some of his contacts.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked.

"Joseph's back at the house with Ma and James and Ryan are on their way with the truck for the supplies and a van to take you all back to the house."

Sean nodded, taking in the information. "How much does Ma know?" He asked quietly.

Rory looked at him seriously, "Just enough."

The headlights from the truck and the van lit up the area around the landing strip but only revealed vacant fields. James and Ryan Glenanne parked the vehicles and joined their siblings on the tarmac. Ryan greeted Sean with a wide smile, while James greeted him with the semi-detached concern of a family doctor, which is what he was.

"Let's get this taken care of so I can get you back to the house and take a good look at you, all right?" he told Sean.

Michael, Lucy, and Sam were making their way down the ramp with bags and boxes. Michael dropped the large duffels he carried and came to stand next to Sean. Rory reached across the circle to clasp Michael's hand warmly. "Michael McBride," he mused. "It's been…forever since I've seen you."

"Yeah," Ryan chimed in, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Not since he broke Fi's heart by walkin' out on her in the middle of the night."

Michael and Sean exchanged a glance.

"Boys," Sean started. "I want to introduce you to Sam Axe and Lucy Chen, friends of Michael's from Miami. They're here to help." Sam and Lucy smiled at the brothers but continued to stand a step back from the rest of the group, knowing the shoe that was about to drop. "And this," Sean continued, placing a hand on Michael's arm from the wheelchair, "is Michael _Westen_…former spook."

A breeze rustled the overgrown grass and the three men quietly narrowed their eyes as they sized Michael up. In his time with Fiona in Ireland Michael had only ever met Sean and Rory. The oldest Glenanne sibling, Joseph, had already left home to start his own family and career in academia. James had been in medical school, and Ryan, the baby after Claire's death, had been busy making the most of his youth by exploring the nightclubs of Europe.

Sean, Rory, and Fiona had been the wild ones in the family, running all over the Republic and the North making things go boom. Rory, with only 11 months more life experience than Fi, had been especially close to her.

"A spy?" Rory rolled the word around in his mouth as if deciding whether to swallow it or spit it out onto the cracked concrete where they stood. There was a tension in the air that wound its way around the group like tendrils of ivy weaving their way through a fence. Everyone stood still for what felt like hours before Rory finally leapt across the few feet between them and tackled Michael down to the ground. The stillness erupted into a flurry of activity as Michael and Rory wrestled on the pavement, Sam tried to hold off Ryan and James, and Lucy and Sean tried unsuccessfully to break up the fight.

"You bastard!" Rory cried as he landed a punch to Michael's jaw. Michael grabbed a fist full of his shirt, bridged and rolled Rory underneath himself, pressing him against the pavement with his torso and one arm while rubbing his jaw with the other.

"You can hit me all you want," Michael growled down at him, "But it's not going to change the past and it's not going to get your sister back."

"He's right," Sean looked down at Rory and then over to his other two brothers. "If I learned anything in Miami, it's that Michael _Westen_ is more one of us than you could have imagined back in the day. I know we all had our doubts back then, but I've seen him with Fiona. I've seen the way they work together. Fi trusts him. We can trust him too." He paused. "We have to. He's the best chance we've got at gettin' Fi."

"Fiona knows about who you are? About what you were doin' here before?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Yes," Michael looked up at him from the ground, keeping Rory pinned for the moment. "She knew before I left Ireland. We were on the same side of things, helping each other. And while she may have held a few grudges about the way things came to an end, well, we've made peace with that. She's not thrilled about my job, but…it's not my job anymore. I'm out." Michael decided it would be best, for now, to leave out the details of his efforts to get back in.

"Listen, fellas," Sam spoke up. "Out in the open like this doesn't really seem like the best place to be having this conversation. How about we get this stuff loaded up, let this plane get back on its way, and try to get some rest before tomorrow?" He gave everyone a cheesy grin. "Huh? How 'bout it?" His cheesy smoothness lightened the mood and everyone set to work getting things loaded from the plane to the truck.

Michael helped Rory to his feet.

"You told her but you never told me?" He asked Michael quietly.

"I didn't tell her," Michael answered. "She figured it out. It was dangerous for any of you to know. I didn't want you getting hurt."

Rory stared him down for a moment. "Well, I trust my brother. If he says we can trust you, I'll trust you." He narrowed his eyes. "But if you give me just one reason to be concerned, you'll wish you'd never set foot back on Irish soil."

Michael nodded. "I know," was his solemn answer.

...

It had been a long time since Michael had awoken to the sound of birds chirping. To make matters worse, Mrs. Glenanne also kept chickens in the yard. Their incessant squawking as the first rays of light rose over the horizon ensured that he would never get back to sleep. Of course, it really didn't matter how loud the birds were. Not knowing how Fiona was spending her night made it very difficult for Michael to get anything other than a few hours of fitful sleep.

Sam was snoring across the room so Michael knew he'd be out for several more hours. Slipping on tennis shoes, some track pants, and a t-shirt, Michael slipped out of the room hoping to escape for an early morning run to quiet his nerves.

When they'd arrived the night before it had been long past midnight. As an early riser, Fiona's mother had been asleep by the time they got there. The brothers helped the three Americans get settled before trying to get some rest themselves. Michael and Sam had been given the old room of Fiona's oldest brothers, Joseph and James, who both lived nearby with their families. Lucy was in the girls' room. Sean, Rory, and Ryan had taken up residence in their own old room, as they all lived out of town.

Michael made his way down the hall but stopped dead in his tracks when he rounded the corner to the kitchen. It was large and open with an eating area at the opposite end, and there, in the far corner, knelt Fiona's mother. Her back to Michael, she was leaning over a small table adorned with a cross and some candles. It was something Michael had never quite grown accustomed to when he'd worked in Ireland…the constant prayers and petitions.

As he stood there, he recognized the morning prayers she was repeating. When he'd lived with Fiona in Dublin, he would occasionally wake up to the sound of her voice quietly repeating those same prayers, usually after a mission had gone bad. He swallowed hard at the thought of it and sniffed involuntarily as if to hold in the emotion. He'd never met Fiona's mother back then, but seeing her now, her stature and demeanor, brought back a flood of memories.

The quiet noises he made caught her attention and she turned around to look at him. She started to rise slowly, and Michael took three quick, long steps across the room to reach her and help her up. Her hands lingered in his longer than he was comfortable with, but she didn't care. She looked up at him intently, examining his face.

"Thanks be to God," she whispered. "He has sent his Archangel to help us in our fight. We've needed a Michael in this family for a long time, and now you're here." She saw the confusion in his face and explained, "You're still a Michael, aren't you, boy? McBride or Westen I couldn't care less, but as long as you're Michael, surely it's a sign from God that you've come to help us. Are you familiar with St. Michael, the Archangel? The defender of the heavens?" Michael shook his head no. "He's the guardian of the church, a warrior, protector against all that is evil and wrong in the world. He is said to protect those in battle against evil-doers and to help protect us against our physical and spiritual enemies." She motioned to a candle on the table behind her. "I've added his Novena to my morning prayers. Will you say it with me?"

Michael stumbled to find the words, he was so blindsided by this small, but powerful woman. "I…I don't know the…"

"Here," she fumbled through the pages of a prayer book and handed it to him. She held his hand and pulled him down with her to kneel in front of the table.

She squeezed his hand in encouragement and he began to read. "Saint Michael," he said quietly. "Intercede for me with God in all my necessities, especially," he paused at the blank space.

"Especially as we search for our Fiona," Mrs. Glenanne filled in for him.

She continued on with the prayer, "Obtain for me a favorable outcome," Michael joined back in and they continued in unison, "In the matter I recommend to you. Mighty prince of the heavenly host, and victor over rebellious spirits, remember me for I am weak and sinful and so prone to pride and ambition. Be for me, I pray, my powerful aid in temptation and difficulty, and above all do not forsake me in my last struggle with the powers of evil. Amen."

"Amen," Michael whispered, the flickering flame of the candle blurred as his eyes grew cloudy.

A delicate arm brushed over his shoulders and squeezed him gently. "It's nice to finally meet you, Michael. I've heard so much about you. Will you let me make you some tea before you go running off?"

...

It was building up to be a rare, warm summer day by the time Michael hobbled back to the house. He'd run out all the tension and nervous energy that had built up overnight. The shirt he wore was dripping with sweat and his lungs were on fire. He relished a warm shower and maybe some more sleep before lunch, but that was not to be. He paused on the front walk when he heard angry voices through the open windows.

"And what are we supposed to do now? Sit back and twiddle our thumbs?" Michael recognized this voice as Fiona's brother Joseph who he'd met briefly last night. "This is our sister…our only sister still breathin' and you all want to work with these Americans?"

"I know what you're thinking, Joe," It was Sean now. "I was thinkin' the same thing, but they know what they're doing. Fiona and I tried to take care of that bastard once and it would've been our deaths if it weren't for Westen and Axe. Fi trusts them, and so should we."

"Nay, I think I might be with Joe on this one after all," Michael heard Ryan speaking up. "We need to get to her now. Who knows what they're doin' to her _right now_. She's in real trouble this time."

"There has to be some way we can get out to the ship," Rory added.

Joseph had an idea, "Doesn't your company keep helicopters around for your demolition work, Rory? Keep an eye on the spectators and make sure the area's clear? If we could get a hold of one of those 'copters we could storm the ship, take'em all out…we'd have the element of surprise…"

Michael couldn't listen any longer. This conversation was quickly veering into dangerous territory. There was a squeal as the old hinges protested the door opening. Everyone looked up from the breakfast table, littered with empty plates and glasses and teacups. Mrs. Glenanne had prepared a full, hearty, Irish breakfast for her family and guests, but, unfortunately, with their stomachs full, they were better equipped for bickering.

"Michael," Mrs. Glenanne stood up from the table quickly and handed him a cup of strong tea.

More tea was the last thing Michael wanted, but he took a sip of it anyway, grimacing as the hot liquid burned his throat. He crossed the room to stand at one end of the table, between Sean and Rory. Sam and Lucy eyed him from the other end of the table, trying to size up his state of mind. After everything he'd been through, Sam knew Michael remained on the edge of his breaking point even though he was good at concealing that. Michael set the teacup down and turned to Joseph.

"I know," he spoke slowly, "That you're worried about your sister, but storming the cargo ship will not accomplish anything other than getting yourselves killed. Even when an army does something like that it's still risky, and they're equipped and trained soldiers." He looked around the table. "Who do we have here? You Joseph? A professor?" He looked to James and Ryan, "A doctor and a nightclub owner? Sean nearly died three days ago and Rory looks like he hasn't held a gun in over a decade."

Michael reached across the table to grab the lone remaining slice of toast. His confidence grew as he munched the crispy bread and watched the brothers exchange uncomfortable glances across the table. Mrs. Glenanne began to clear the dishes quietly and Sam stood up to help her.

"So," Joseph finally spoke up again. "I suppose you have an idea then?" He stared at Michael expectantly and crossed his arms over his chest.

"If we can't take them with brute force, we need to outsmart them. We need to make it seem like nothing is wrong until the very last minute. We need to take advantage of the time we have to plan a covert strike. Something that won't get Fi killed."

"And that would be what, now?" James chimed in.

Michael walked around the table and took Sam's seat. He was about to respond that he was working on it when Lucy cleared her throat.

"Actually, I think I have an idea." All eyes turned to her. "I was thinking," she began, "I'm really the only person here we can guarantee that O'Neill doesn't know. If I could get in as a buyer at the auction, I could just buy Fiona back. With the right back story and fake accounts, they'd never suspect anything."

"And you think you can actually get the right back story and the fake accounts?" Rory questioned skeptically.

Lucy nodded, "My company does this kind of thing all the time, the back story part at least. Michael, you have an asset you use for money matters, don't you?"

"Barry," Michael mused, happy to see a plan finally taking shape.

"This could work, Mikey," Sam said, standing over the sink. "Sean, do you think you could use your contacts to find out how an interested party would go about getting in on this little shindig?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Sean replied, "But what about when this is all over? We buy Fi back and then what? That scumbag just gets to walk away? What's to stop him from coming after her again? From coming after any of us? I'm not in until we have a plan to take out O'Neill and those Real IRA bastards."

"He's right," Rory agreed. "What if we just blow the ship?"

"Blow it up?" Sam asked warily.

"Sure," Rory nodded. "Fi's not the only one in this family who's good with dets and fuses." He grinned.

"I thought you were out of the game, Rory?" Michael looked at him, confused.

"Sure, I'm out of the game, but I managed to find a way to get paid to blow things up legally." His smile was broad.

"Ah, right, demolition," Michael remembered from Joseph's comment earlier.

"Best job in the world," Rory beamed.

Michael looked back to Sean. "So do we have a deal? You get in touch with your contacts and I let you all blast the ship into a million pieces?"

Sean and the rest of the brothers all smiled. "Deal." Sean said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Covert missions are a lot like jigsaw puzzles. All the little pieces have to fit together before you can see the big picture. As a spy, it's vital that you're able to visualize how all the details will eventually fit together. Miss a piece of the puzzle before the big day and you'll never reach a satisfying conclusion._

...

The rest of the day was spent setting up a base of operations in the old barn behind the Glenanne house. Mr. Glenanne had raised sheep before he died, but the large building went unused now. They unpacked and set up the computers from Lucy's company, and gathered additional tools from Sean's and Rory's stashes as needed. Mrs. Glenanne and James forced Sean to work the rest of the day from the living room couch, but he was still able to man the phone to get in touch with the contacts they needed help from.

Sam unpacked the electronics with mounting enthusiasm. "Funny how you can forget that not everyone has to _make_ all their gadgets," he mused, pulling out and examining something that looked like it came off a spaceship.

Michael looked amused. "Not sure even _I_ could pull off high-speed internet in an outbuilding on a farm in rural Ireland."

"You're welcome," Lucy smirked. "Of course it helps when your company owns its own satellites," she smiled and went back to work.

It was late in the day when Ryan came to find Michael. The change in latitude had led Michael to lose track of time. In Ireland, so far to the north, the summer days stretched longer than in Miami and he hadn't realized how late it had become.

"Michael," Ryan leaned down to see Michael who was on his back doing some wiring under the makeshift desk.

Michael finished twisting the last bit of wiring before crawling out. "Yeah?"

"Sean needs you inside." He offered Michael a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks," Michael looked him over as they walked inside. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan answered him. "I think so. I mean…this isn't exactly my specialty. It's a bit overwhelming. Give me a good cocktail recipe and some beautiful women any day…"

Michael laughed in spite of himself. "Have you had a chance to talk to Sam yet?"

Sean was still laid out on the couch in the living room, but he was joined by a very old, very fragile looking man sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs by the fireplace.

"Michael," Sean greeted him. "This is Jack Tracey. He's my best connection to the old IRA underground. Tracey, this is Michael"

"Michael," the man mused while Michael extended a hand to him. "I've heard so much about you. Is it McBride again, or Westen?"

Michael lowered the hand that had never been shaken. "Um, it's always Westen now," he answered awkwardly. "Maybe you've heard…I'm not exactly on the job any more."

"Yes, I did hear that. Damn shame, I say. I know a few people if you'd ever like a real job again."

Michael laughed uncomfortably. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

"Please," Tracey motioned to the other wing-back. He tapped the thick file folder sitting in his lap. "Have a seat. I believe I have some information that will interest you."

...

"Why are you doing this?" Fiona was alternating between feeling helpless and indignant and this was one of her indignant moments. Hands cuffed again, in front this time, O'Neill held her upper arm and led her down a long corridor. Men with guns followed them. After so many days at sea with little to eat or drink, her legs felt barely capable of holding her up. Each step was another gamble.

"Why?" O'Neill taunted her. "Why? Have you forgotten all your Irish history, girl?"

It was the last thing she wanted to hear, but she knew that knowing his motivations might help her find a way to escape. "Why don't you refresh my memory?" she spat.

He laughed, a wicked sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "You want a history lesson then?" He suddenly pushed her through an open doorway. "The O'Neills," he launched into a lecture as he dragged her across the room and set her in a solitary chair along the back wall, "have been in the North of Ireland, in Tyrone, for centuries. We were the first to lead the fight against the Protestants and the English. We could have been kings of Ireland, but instead we've spent generations battlin' just to regain independence."

The men with guns remained by the door to prevent any kind of escape.

O'Neill continued his lecture while he worked to set up a tripod with a video camera. "Now, through the generations, O'Neills have worked with all kinds of organizations to further the cause. When I was growin' up, that meant bein' a part of the Provisional IRA, I believe you're familiar with their work?" He leered at her. "But, you see, PIRA got soft. They gave in to the rhetoric comin' at them from the west and from the Crown and they made peace. They made peace by givin' up everything my family worked so hard to protect, and the Six Counties're still overrun by the Orange. When my father was killed I took it upon myself to take his place. I went to the PIRA, went to people like you, looking for help. I had ideas, you see, big ideas, but PIRA was too scared to get its hands dirty."

"Maybe if you weren't purposefully murdering innocent people and little children we'd've been more welcoming," she muttered under her breath.

"But you see, if that's what's needed, that's what must be done. And that's what I've done, on my own, for the last 12 years. I've been an army of one, advancing the cause when no one else would. Do you know how much you cost me when you diverted those explosives? Years! Years of hard work having to rebuild my reputation. And now, with you here I'm going to be on top again. You were such a rising star when you first joined the cause. It's a shame, but you made a lot of enemies, you know? In your time working with your American spy. Sabotaging Real and Continuity IRA activities, and for what? For the country to remain divided and under the Crown? There are so many people who would love to make you suffer for your role in helping the PIRA decommission, for settling us into this illegitimate treaty. And when I bring you to them, they are going to finally be on my side again. I won't be an army of one, I'll be the one true leader of the remains of the IRA and we will rise up again until the Occupied Counties are free and Ireland is united as it was meant to be."

The rantings of this undoubtedly evil man churned Fiona's already miserable stomach and she couldn't stop herself from leaning over and vomiting onto the floor.

"Clean her up!" O'Neill ordered the guards. He laughed to himself. "She needs to look her best for our lovely customers now, doesn't she?"

...

Michael sat at the kitchen table the next morning sketching out his ideas for how they would need to reconfigure the van in order to use it as a getaway car. It was a gloomy, drizzly day that made him wish he could be back in Miami…a thought that surprised him. While he'd managed to avoid morning prayers with Mrs. Glenanne, Michael did make an effort to go over to the little altar and say a few silent prayers of his own. It couldn't hurt, he figured, and if it could help…well, they needed all the help they could get.

Lucy came out of her bedroom late, past breakfast. She slouched down in a chair across from Michael at the table.

Michael paused his work to look up at her. "You look lovely," he deadpanned.

"Why, thank you," she responded in kind. "I was up all night getting things settled with the cover ID."

"So everything's set?"

"I'm going to try to add a few more backstops, but yes, everything should be fine if they try to check me out…which they will. I decided to go with the rich, jilted, ex-girlfriend. We just need the fake accounts to back it up."

"Ex-girlfriend of Fiona?" he was confused.

"No," Lucy rolled her eyes. "_Your_ ex-girlfriend. In the cover, you and I were a hot item right before you met Fiona. Then you met her, fell in love, and left me to be with her, throwing my life into a tailspin. Years later I'm a rich American businesswoman, but I still blame Fiona for ruining my only chance at love."

Michael tapped his pencil thoughtfully against the table. "You know, some of that sounds very familiar," he grinned.

"Well that just makes it an easier sell," Lucy grinned back. "So I blame Fiona for ruining my chances of ever being with you, and I've come to buy her so that I can exact my revenge."

"Sounds like a plan." he said. "And thanks Lucy, for all that you're doing. You wanna go call Barry with me?"

They rolled up his plans and headed out to the barn to make the call on the video phone Lucy had set up. Inside the barn-turned-spy-headquarters, they discovered Sam and Ryan having drinks together.

"No, no, no," Sam was telling him. "You don't understand. She had _so many_ vacation homes she couldn't even remember how many she had! It was amazing."

Ryan was laughing so hard he couldn't manage to take any more sips of his beer. "I've got to make it down to Miami one of these days," he said, between slapping his palm against the table.

"Oh man," Sam agreed. "You and I could do some major damage on South Beach. Whew," he whistled. "And with your accent, the women would be crawling all over you." They both toasted to that.

Lucy and Michael stood in the doorway watching them with amusement.

"Mike!" Sam finally noticed them. "Lucy! Come have a beer."

"Isn't it a little early for that Sam?" Michael prodded him.

"I know, I know," Sam acquiesced. "But Ryan here needed to relax a little, you know? What's up?"

"We need to call Barry and get him to set up those accounts."

"Oh, Barry's gonna _love_ that." Sam predicted sarcastically. "Fake accounts this big are gonna totally wig him out."

Michael nodded in agreement, "Yeah, but I'm hoping his crush on Fi will win him over for us."

Sam laughed at that. He pointed his beer bottle at Ryan. "You'd better stay and watch Michael work this one. Barry's a hoot."

...

"All right, this is it," Lucy downloaded the file O'Neill had sent her for the auction. The others watched the large monitor intently. She clicked open the folder. It contained a document with directions to the docking location and guidelines for attending the auction. The other file was a short video.

Given what she expected to see in the video, Lucy was hesitant to play it in front of Fiona's brothers…or Michael for that matter. She exchanged a glance with Sam, but he just shrugged and twisted his mouth on one side as if to say, 'Don't think you're gonna be able to get out of this one.'

"Lucy," Michael pressed. "Open the video." His voice was hard and cold. He'd already prepared himself mentally for what he knew he would see.

Rory and Ryan shifted impatiently, waiting. Sean just sat completely still in the wheelchair, focused completely on what they were about to watch.

She clicked open the file and it began to play.

Fiona sat on a chair against the wall of a large room. The walls were a dark, dirty rust color and they contrasted sharply with the paleness of Fiona's skin. She was still tanned, but there was a sickly paleness in her face. She wore the same gray tank top and jeans Michael had last seen her in…right before the smoke bombs crashed through the windows of the safe house and their whole world had been turned upside down. He could see the mixture of terror and stubborn fury in her eyes.

"My name is Fiona Glenanne," she began to speak, obviously from a script. "Yesterday's high in Miami was 97 degrees. Early this morning there was a small earthquake off the coast of Fiji…"

"What's she talking about?" Ryan asked Sam quietly.

"He's making her say that so people have proof she's still alive. Usually people hold up a newspaper or something, but I guess they couldn't get a current newspaper in the middle of the Atlantic. O'Neill's buyers aren't stupid and they don't want to walk into a trap," Sam explained. Ryan couldn't decide if that made him feel better or worse.

Fiona continued reading a list of several more current events and then stared straight ahead at the camera for a moment before it was turned off and the video ended.

"Play it again," Michael told Lucy.

"Michael, are you sure you-"

"I need to check for coded messages," he reached over her and clicked it himself, settling down into the chair next to her.

"My name is Fiona Glenanne," the video started again.

Sam got up and shooed the brothers towards the door, wheeling Sean away even as he tried to turn and watch over his shoulder. "Come on, boys, no need to watch that again. We need to start planning this bombing!" His voice made the bombing sound like a surprise party.

When they were gone, Lucy turned and watched Michael as he watched the video. His focus was so intense he didn't once look back at her. Lucy knew that in a situation like Fiona's, with a captor so ruthless and so experienced, there was little hope of being able to convey any kind of hidden message safely.

"See anything?" she asked.

"No," he sighed and started the video again.

"My name is Fiona Glenanne," her voice emerged from the speakers.

"It would have been too risky. She was being smart."

"Yeah," he acknowledged, but pulled over a pen and a pad of paper anyway.

...

Ryan left later to make a quick trip back to Dublin to check on his club. Meanwhile, Michael, Sam, and Rory spent the day under welding shields, cutting and welding the parts in place for their rescue van. Lucy needed to spend some time on her actual job and was therefore video conferencing from the barn.

Following Michael's plans, they stripped out the seats and the entire interior, down to the bare metal. Directly behind the driver and front passenger seats they installed a wire grating so that it would appear Lucy was seeking to protect herself from her prisoner. In the middle of the cargo hold space they installed a metal wall with a narrow door, similar to a gym locker. The half closest to the front seats would be accessible from the outside by the side, sliding door. They added a bench along the wall opposite the sliding door with a hidden compartment in it for supplies that might be needed after the rescue. This was to be the area where Lucy would ask O'Neill's men to place her newly purchased prisoner. It had to look like an actual holding cell so as not to give away their true motives.

In the back half of the van they installed metal shelving to hold the computers and video monitors that Michael would be using during the operation. This would be the command center, the heart of the operation, so it needed to remain undetectable. They installed a heat-shielding material on all the walls of that compartment and also the back doors of the van, even covering the small windows. Inside, there would be just enough room for Michael to sit and communicate with Lucy, the bomb team, and Barry.

At lunchtime, Mrs. Glenanne brought them out a tray of tea and sandwiches. Sean rolled out to join them and check on their progress. The three men peeled off their protective gear and sat around a small patio table with him to enjoy the much needed respite. Michael was quiet, even more so than normal. Sam understood the reasons for that and allowed him his peace, but Rory, on the other hand, had questions he'd been waiting to ask and this seemed like the perfect time.

"So," he set down his empty teacup. "When you were here before…you were CIA?"

Michael glanced at Sam before setting down his own cup and turning to Rory. "Not exactly," he explained wearily. "I did work for the government, but in more of an independent capacity. You know, plausible deniability and all."

"And when you met Fiona…?" Sean joined in the questioning

"It was planned. I knew she would be a good asset for my mission."

"But it turned into more than that," Rory's face was serious.

Michael twisted the spoon in his fingers. "It was a lapse in judgment on my part. I got attached…and I wasn't willing to cut her out until it was too late and by then that was the only thing I could do to keep her alive."

Since the brothers had gone ahead and gotten the conversation rolling, Sam decided to ask a question he'd always wondered about. "So Mikey, when you were burned, how'd you still manage to have Fi's number as your emergency contact?"

Rory and Sean raised their eyebrows at that.

"It was an old emergency line. Fi and I set up a pair of them and we'd have them rerouted to every new phone we picked up, just in case. I guess she kept hers up even after I left."

They were all quiet for a moment.

"And now you're just out?" Rory continued his line of questions.

"Yes. Burned."

"But you guys still work…Fi tells me about it sometimes…how do you manage to work without your agency?"

"We make do," Michael shrugged. "We never get to work with as many toys as Lucy brought for us this time, but we make do."

"Yeah, Mike's the king of making something out of nothing," Sam chimed in.

"But I _do_ need to get back in," Michael brought up. "It doesn't make your sister very happy, but it's not safe for any of us if I'm burned."

"And that's why Fi's moving back home, then?" Sean asked pointedly.

"Fi's moving back to Ireland?" It was news to Rory.

"That was the plan," Michael explained.

"But then O'Neill got there first," he surmised.

"You got it," Sam answered.

"So," Rory wouldn't let up. "When this is over…is she gonna stay here? You're gonna save her and then just leave?"

Sam watched Michael closely.

"If that's what she wants, then yes." Michael stood up to get back to work. It was easier to evade questions from under the welding shield.

Sean and Rory looked at Sam quizzically. He held up his hands in mock defense. "Don't look at me, I've never understood that relationship!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_When you're a spy it's very tempting to trust no one. It may feel safer to rely only on yourself, but in reality there are very few jobs that can be done solo. A good spy learns how to find people he can trust, but it's never easy to hand over the control._

...

It was already late in the afternoon on the day before the auction when O'Neill's ship finally docked. Jack Tracey called Sean and Sean informed Michael.

"Time to pack up and head out," he announced to Sam, Lucy, Rory, and Ryan, who were in the middle of a poker game.

They gathered the dive gear, the schematics of the ship, and the explosives and waited for nightfall. It was an hour's drive from the Glenanne house to the small abandoned dock where O'Neill's cargo ship was anchored. While Michael drove, Sam used the time to review the diving techniques they had practiced. Michael smiled to himself over how much Sam was enjoying being able to dust off his SEAL training and put it to good use.

By the time they reached the coast the rain was coming down in buckets. They pulled off onto the shoulder of a rather desolate road, down shore and just out of sight of the cargo ship. The men changed into their scuba gear while Lucy loaded the supplies into the boat. They reviewed the schematics again before carrying the large, soft-sided boat into the water.

"Lovely weather this evening," Sam joked as they climbed on board. Everyone was already drenched.

"Sometimes it's a good thing you can count on all this Irish rain," Ryan noted. Then he had a thought, "The rain's not gonna mess up this stuff, is it?"

"No," Rory assured him. "I know Fi loves her C4, but Semtex has all the same benefits plus it's waterproof. Pretty handy 'round these parts." He held a hand up to the rain and smiled.

Michael and Sam paddled with a slow, methodic rhythm that ensured the oars made almost no splash as they entered the water stroke after stroke. The rain would cover much of their noise, but they still needed to remain as quiet as possible. Michael was nervous about Ryan's inexperience with both diving and handling explosives. He could see that Ryan was nervous too, but they'd buddied him up with Sam so Michael hoped he would be fine.

When they reached the hull of the cargo ship, Michael attached a large suction cup hook and tethered their smaller boat to the larger one. He said a silent prayer to St. Michael and hoped that everyone would remember their part of the plan. Michael and Rory went in first, taking a few of the Semtex sticky bombs to place along the stern below the water line. Sam and Ryan went next with the bombs for the bow leaving Lucy alone on board to gather the next batches of charges.

Lucy heard voices just as Sam and Ryan rolled backwards off the side and into the water. All four men had made the smallest splashes possible, but Lucy thought for sure someone on board had heard them. She grabbed her rifle and pressed her back against the ship. The inflatable sides of their raft bounced silently against the hard steel.

"You hear that?" one of O'Neill's men asked another.

"Just birds goin' fishing," another one assured him.

Michael and Rory surfaced at the side of the ship. Lucy held out a hand of silent warning and Michael pulled Rory back below the surface.

"Don't see nothing," the first man said.

"Told ya," the other one mocked him. "Come on. I'm possin' wet."

There were no more noises from the ship after that. Michael and Rory resurfaced again a few moments later and Lucy passed them more charges.

The process was repeated until there were enough plastic explosives attached to the hull of O'Neill's ship that there was no way anyone would survive the blast…and if they somehow did they'd soon find themselves entombed on the ocean floor.

...

It was past midnight when they returned. Sam was quickly asleep, but Michael found he couldn't settle down enough to rest so he set about doing push-ups next to the bed to burn off nervous energy. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Michael? It's Lucy."

He slipped out in the hallway so they wouldn't wake Sam.

"What is it?"

"There's a new email from O'Neill, confirming the details for tomorrow," she paused. "There's a new video. I thought you'd want to see it. I left it up on the computer in the barn."

"Thanks Lucy," he clapped her on the shoulder and slipped out the back.

His arms ached and he was now exhausted, but he played the short video clip over and over again. It was not staged like the last one, just surveillance footage of Fiona in a locked room. It began with her eating a small bag of chips and ended a few minutes later with her curling up on the metal floor to sleep.

He was watching it for the fourth time when he heard a gasp from the doorway. He spun around to find Mrs. Glenanne clutching a folded quilt. He clicked the video closed as she slowly walked over to him.

"What have they done to her?" she whispered.

"Here…please, sit," he guided her into the chair at the desk. She held the quilt tightly in her lap to keep from shaking.

"I'm sorry," she looked up at him. "I couldn't sleep and I heard you and Miss Lucy talking. I just wanted to bring you this…for tomorrow…" she patted the quilt. "It was Fiona's when she was little. I thought she might need something warm'n'cozy…you know, once you've got her back."

He smiled his thanks and accepted the quilt. "I'll put it with the other supplies," he assured her. "Thanks."

"Can I watch it?"

"Um, I…I don't know if…" Michael tried to find a way out of it.

She reached out to grab his arm. "Don't be like them," she looked at him sternly. "I love my sons but they treat me like some wilting flower. Fiona's my daughter. I deserve to know what's going on." They locked eyes for a moment. "Please, Michael."

He nodded without saying anything and they watched the video together a few more times. She seemed relieved after he explained the complete, finalized plan to her, and some of the contingency plans. She walked arm in arm with him back to the house.

"Good night, Michael," she whispered and patted his cheek.

...

"Today's your lucky day, sweetheart."

For a split second Fiona actually felt a glimmer of hope at O'Neill's greeting. Then she remembered his twisted version of reality.

"Oh no, wait," he continued, his voice mocking the look on her face. "Make that _my_ lucky day." He chuckled, pleased with himself.

He entered the cell with armed guards waiting behind him as always. "Time to go," his voice was as chipper as a parent getting ready to take their child to the circus.

He reached for one of her arms and she tried to wrench it away from him but only ended up backing herself into a corner.

"Now's not the time for games," he scolded.

Too tired to fight much further, she let a handcuff click shut around one wrist, then the other. 'If this is it,' she thought as a head bag blacked out her view of the world, 'then this is it. Better to go out with some dignity.' And with that thought she raised a foot and took an educated guess at where to aim.

"Goddamn, mother fucking chancer, for fuck's sake," he pushed her out into the hall roughly. "You're lucky there's people out there who want you in one piece." He continued swearing as they walked down the hall and Fiona smiled to herself under the cover of the cloth.

...

"Mike, you got eyes on Lucy?" Sam's voice came through the comm.

"Yep. And ears. Everything's fine."

"All righty then," Sam replied. "Keep us updated…these guys are twitchier than those bounties Fi picks up," he said, referring to Rory and Ryan. The other brothers had remained back at the house with Mrs. Glenanne. The three men were parked farther down the road in the truck, out of sight from the boat and positioned to make a quick and inconspicuous getaway. Rory, the demolitions expert, would be in charge of blowing the charges. If their plan for keeping all of O'Neill's men and the other auction participants on board the ship until it blew did not work, Ryan would drive and Sam and Rory would use the sniper rifles to make sure there were no loose ends.

"Will do, Sam." Michael said. "Lucy just got through the security on the ship…they should be starting any minute now."

The screens in Michael's hiding spot in the van displayed three video feeds. One of the feeds rotated between all four sides of the van. They had installed tiny pinhole cameras that just barely poked through holes in the bumpers and sidewalls. The van was scratched up enough that a few extra speckles would never be noticed. Lucy was wearing the other cameras. The feed from one of them showed what Lucy was looking at, thanks to the camera hidden in her glasses, and the other showed what was happening behind her, due to the camera hidden in her jeweled barrette. He also had an open line to Barry, back in Miami, so they could manage Lucy's accounts in real time.

Michael watched the screens as a guard walked Lucy down a metal-walled corridor to the room where the auction would be held. Lucy settled into a seat on the far side of the room and took a casual look around to give Michael a good view. There was a podium at the front of the room, next to the second entrance and four rows of chairs were lined up facing the podium. Michael recognized several of the other bidders from missions he'd worked with Fiona in Ireland. There were a few other men who looked to be from the Middle East, Northern Africa, and Eastern Europe. Flipping again through the intel from Jack Tracey, he compared the pictures of the Real IRA leaders O'Neill was looking to impress with the silhouettes of the men in the front row. One of the men turned to speak to another and Michael was able to confirm his identity.

"The men at 10 o'clock are going to be your biggest competition," Michael spoke into Lucy's earpiece. "Just keep an eye on them."

Lucy coughed to conceal an, "I know."

Michael tried to remind himself that Lucy knew what she was doing. She was a trained operative, _he'd_ trained her, and they'd gone over the plan not two hours ago. It was killing him to have to watch from the van, but there was no way he'd ever be able to get on that boat without being recognized. This was the hard part for Michael, sitting back and trusting everyone else to get things right, letting other people walk into dangerous situations. When it got down to crunch time on a mission he liked to be the one walking into the fire. If things went badly it was on his head and he would be the one in danger, not the people he cared about.

After a few more minutes the room quieted as the door next to the podium creaked open. An armed guard entered the room, followed by O'Neill, who was dragging Fiona by the arm, then another guard. O'Neill removed one of the handcuffs, looped it around a pipe that ran from floor to ceiling and then attached it back to Fiona's wrist so that she was standing with her back against the pipe, arms held behind her. She struggled against it for a moment in frustration but soon gave up.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," O'Neill leaned into the podium, barely containing his excitement. "Good morning to you all."

As he watched from the van, Michael was having a difficult time controlling his urge to punch a fist through the video monitor.

"That guy sounds like a real jerk," Barry said over the phone line.

Michael refrained from replying.

"I present to you today, Fiona Glenanne," O'Neill continued, waving an arm in her direction. "Considerin' you've come all this way for our little auction, I'll not bore you with the details of her crimes. I'm sure you are fully aware of why she's here. If there aren't any questions, we'll get started." He paused to allow for comments.

One of the IRA men in the front row spoke up. "How're we to know this is really her with that bag over'er head?" he asked.

O'Neill looked embarrassed. "Yes, yes, of course," he apologized to the man a little too profusely. He turned around and yanked the bag off of Fiona's head and Lucy ducked her head quickly, examining the strap of her shoe. Fiona blinked at the lights and sneezed before trying to get a peek around the room while she had the chance. She stared into faces she hadn't seen in decades and some she'd never seen before. Black market deals were often faceless.

The man from the IRA whispered something to the man sitting next to him and they nodded at O'Neill with approval. With their permission, O'Neill dropped the bag back over Fiona's head as quickly as he'd taken it off.

Michael's fists clenched subconsciously.

Fiona felt tears welling in her eyes and tried to force them away. She would not cry. The brief glimpse around the room had only heightened her alarm. To see the faces of so many enemies all in one place, all staring her down and watching with glee as she stood there powerless…it was like a nightmare come true, something no one in the business would ever want to face. She tried to control her breathing as a few tears made trails down her cheeks. For once she was thankful for the head bag as it ensured that no one would know just how scared she really was.

"So then, if there are no other concerns we'll start the bidding. You each have a card with an ID number on it. Write your bid on the card and we will collect them."

Lucy fiddled with her pen waiting for Michael to tell her how much to bid.

"Go big, Lucy," she heard him through her earpiece. "We're playing with Monopoly money here. The sky's the limit."

"Still needs to be believable," she muttered under her breath.

"Let's go with the high end of what we talked about," he replied.

"Okay," she whispered.

After writing the number on the card she folded it in half and raised it daintily above her head. One of O'Neill's men came to collect it. When they had all of the cards, the bidders were instructed to remain seated while O'Neill took Fiona and the cards and left the room.

As the door shut behind them, Michael leaned his head back and forced himself to take deep breaths. It would all be over soon.

...

"Now then," O'Neill mumbled to himself as he sorted through the cards spread out on a large table.

Fiona sat hunched over in a corner. Her mind ran through any potential last minute escape options. After all this time, things like that were still second nature. She preferred those thoughts anyway to the thoughts about what would happen once O'Neill decided on a buyer. The kind of people who would pay to buy an old enemy on the black market were not generally the kind of people who wanted to kill that enemy off in a quick or painless manner. They might not even want to kill that enemy at all. She shivered. There were many things in this world worse than death.

O'Neill tossed out many of the offers easily. Some were ridiculously low. Others offered goods or services that were of no value to him. He finally narrowed it down to two cards. One card offered little money, but it paired the low financial offer with the offer of partnership and prestige he had been hoping for. The other card offered only money, but it was five times more money than any other offer on the table.

"Well, well," he continued talking to himself. "This _is_ unexpected." He traced the zeros on Lucy's card with his finger. Lust was taking over as he considered a change in the plans. If this later entry panned out he would have enough money to buy his way to the table…and enough left over for some pet projects he'd been planning too. He smiled to himself and that smile turned into a small chuckle, which turned into full-scale laughter. Things were finally going his way and soon he would have everything he'd ever wanted.

His manic laughter gave Fiona chills. She knew this might be her last chance to try anything. If she succeeded, great, and if she failed and died trying? Well then surely that would be better than whatever was waiting for her once they took her off the ship. She pulled her legs up under herself slowly to avoid detection as O'Neill told one of his men which bidder to bring in. As the man left the room she moved as fast as she could to her feet. It was a shot in the dark but she tried to head towards where she sensed the open doorway was.

"Where'd'ya think you're goin', sweetheart?" O'Neill laughed even louder than before, amused by her pitiful escape attempt. "Here," he said. "Lemme help you…" He leaned across the table and gave her a quick shove. His strength was a little more forceful than he'd intended. Her head smashed hard into the metal doorframe and she fell like a rag doll to the floor.

...

"Bidder number 12, please come with me," one of the guards announced to the crowd. "Everyone please remain seated. The auction ain't over 'til the funds change hands."

Lucy rose to follow the guard into the next room. She glanced briefly at Fiona, who was lying lifeless on the floor, but quickly fixed her eyes confidently on O'Neill. Out in the van Michael frantically ordered her to turn back to Fiona so he could see if she was all right, but Lucy ignored him.

"So," O'Neill looked her up and down and then met her gaze. "I read your file. You're really willin' to pay this much over that Westen fellow?"

Michael stopped talking and squirmed in his seat, suddenly terrified that they'd spooked O'Neill with their high bid.

"Why would I make a bid if I wasn't willing to go through with it?" Lucy kept her voice even.

"Fine," he nodded, "But you ought to know, if you're trying to cross us they'll soon be fishin' little pieces of you out of the ocean, so they will. Understand?" Lucy continued to stare him down. Satisfied with the legitimacy of her offer, he turned a laptop around to face her. "Enter your account information here and we'll make the transfer official."

"Not so fast," Lucy held up a hand. She pointed down at Fiona on the floor. "What happened here? I'm not giving you any money for damaged goods."

O'Neill smiled but Lucy could see a flash of panic cross his face. "No, no, she's fine. Just got a little too plucky." He reached down to pull off the head bag. He lifted one of Fiona's eyelids but she was out cold. He smiled sheepishly at Lucy. "She's fine, she's fine," he assured her.

He slapped her face a few times to try to bring her around but Fiona didn't move. Michael held his breath, unable to do anything but watch. Finally O'Neill kicked her in the side with his boot, not the hardest he could, but enough to make her moan and curl protectively to her side, her eyes fluttering. "See? No problem," he smiled at Lucy in relief. "So, we have a deal."

She eyed him coldly. "We have a deal." She leaned over and began to type the long string of numbers Barry had given her.

"This is it, Barry," Michael told him. "You ready?"

"Hell yeah I'm ready," Barry answered. "Ready to claw this guy apart with my bare hands."

"Focus Barry," Michael cautioned, his voice tight.

Lucy double-checked the numbers and hit enter.

"Now Barry, go!"

Lucy stood and watched the computer screen, waiting for it to load. Fiona moaned and Lucy glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed and she was clearly not fully aware of her surroundings, but she was breathing evenly and Lucy knew she'd be all right soon enough. It was better she didn't realize who Lucy was at the moment anyway.

"There we go," O'Neill observed as the computer finally logged the transfer.

"So, we're set then?" Lucy paused and leaned in closer to O'Neill, speaking softly. "For this much money I'd like to request one small favor."

"We'll see what we can do," he smiled over the computer, leaning toward her as well so that they were practically nose to nose.

"I know there are some very angry men in that other room," Lucy murmured seductively. "Give us 15 minutes to get away before you let them leave, would you? I wouldn't want to have spent all this money just to lose my prize a block away." She smiled charmingly at O'Neill.

"No," he agreed. "We can't have that now, can we?"

...

Lucy followed behind the guards as they half walked, half dragged Fiona across the crumbling asphalt parking lot.

"That one there, the white one," Lucy instructed them.

From his hidden compartment at the back, Michael was able to watch every step Fiona took on the monitors. It took every ounce of strength in him to keep from leaping out into the parking lot and taking the guards down with two swift kicks to the head. His muscles twitched, longing to satisfy their desire for revenge, but his mind held firm to the plan and he tried to trust that each person would fulfill their part in it.

"Here we go," Lucy cooed like she was talking to a newly adopted shelter dog and slid open the side door of the van. "Put her right in here, boys," she pointed out the bench and asked them to attach the cuffs to the wire grating that separated the holding cell from the driver and passenger seats.

Michael continued to watch through the monitors. She was here, right here in the same vehicle. They were separated by only a thin metal door. His heart was racing and he wanted nothing more than to be over there, right now, but he needed to stay on the line with Sam for the moment.

Fiona leaned heavily against the wire wall she was handcuffed to. "Please," she whispered repeatedly.

"Sam, are you all set?" Michael forced himself to refocus his attention on the bomb blast that would finally bring the operation to a close.

"Ready and waiting," came Sam's reply.

"Hold on," Michael said.

After thanking the guards and taking the keys, Lucy climbed into the front and started the engine. Michael watched as the guards walked back to the cargo ship and crossed the gangplank to reboard the ship.

Fiona's pleas grew louder as she felt the vehicle vibrating around her. She knew she was being driven to her death…or worse. At least on the ship with O'Neill she'd known he wouldn't do anything bad enough to kill her, but with this mysterious woman she had no idea what might happen and her mind jumped to the worst conclusions. "Please, if you let me go…I don't know who you are, but I know people…I can help you…whatever you need…please don't…"

"Just drive, Lucy," Michael whispered over the comm.

"I know," she answered back quietly. They pulled out onto the road, Lucy driving as fast as she could without looking suspicious.

"Mikey, are we a go?" Sam asked. "You guys far enough out? Any loose ends to take care of?"

"No," Michael told him. "No loose ends. Go ahead whenever you're ready."

"Roger."

The word wasn't even completely out of Sam's mouth when the explosion on the boat rocked the van. Fiona screamed but Lucy continued driving. The van swayed back and forth as she avoided bikers and pedestrians running away from the scene. Michael threw open the metal door and plunged himself into the holding cell with Fiona.

"Fi! Fi!" he spoke to her urgently as he came to kneel in front of her and pulled the black bag off of her head. Being so close to her again brought every emotion he'd held back over the last week crashing to the forefront. His breath was ragged but his senses were on high alert. She stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, unmoving. Her skin was tearstained and pale, mottled from stress. Her hair was unkempt and knotted up in some spots from rubbing against the head bag for so long.

"Michael, here," Lucy passed the keys through the wire mesh as she drove.

"Fi! Fiona," he pressed her to respond while he uncuffed her. Her wrists were rubbed raw in places. He held one up to his lips and kissed it softly, just below her thumb. "Fiona," his voice pleaded with her for a response, a word, a movement, anything. She continued to stare at him, through him, like he was a mirage, a ghost, or some figment of her imagination. "Fi, it's me…me and Lucy. It's okay. It's over."

The arm he had kissed extended tentatively to touch his face. She brushed her fingers along his brow, over to his ear, and down to rest on his chest right over his heart. "Michael?" she murmured, her voice still full of disbelief.

"Yeah, Fi," he tried to reassure her. He pushed some hair out of her face and ran his hands down her arms. She winced as he grazed over bruises. "It's me. You're safe now."

She took in a violent, gasping breath as if sucking in the full reality of the situation and her whole body shook. "Michael," she repeated like it was the only word she remembered. "Michael." The van hit a bump in the road and she crumpled into him, arms wrapping around his neck, grasping fervently at the fabric of his shirt. "Michael."

"I'm right here, Fi. It's okay." he shushed into her hair and laid kisses along her neck. He sat back, settled against the wall, and pulled her into his lap. She clung to him, face buried in his neck. He could feel the tears trickling down his back after they had soaked the collar of his shirt. She started shivering as the shock of the day's events set in. He reached one arm over and pushed open the seat of the bench. He grabbed the quilt Mrs. Glenanne had picked out and wrapped it tightly around her tiny frame.

Michael hadn't ever thought it would be possible for Fiona to lose weight, but between the stress and a prisoner's diet he could tell she was smaller, less muscular, more fragile. As the van rocked over the old road, he rubbed circles on her back and kissed the top of her head. She smelled horrible, the way any prisoner would after more than a week in captivity, but it didn't bother him in the least.

He felt her grip on his neck slacken and knew she had worn out what little strength she'd had left. He continued to hold her tightly while she slept and whispered softly to her that she was safe and that everything was going to be all right. The words were as much for his benefit as they were for hers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_The problem with success is that it makes you lose focus. While victories are sweet and often well deserved, you need to stay vigilant because you never know when a new threat will emerge._

...

Slowly the wisps of consciousness began to creep back into Fiona's mind. It took some time to realize that she was not dreaming and that she really was warm and really was lying on something soft that smelled clean and fresh. As she woke up more and more she noticed chickens squabbling outside and felt a particularly warm patch of morning sunlight at her feet. There was pressure on her left side, just above her hip, something sitting on her stomach. She slowly forced her right hand to investigate and her fingertips reported back that it was something round and covered in hair.

She breathed deeply, greedily inhaling the fresh air, and opened her eyes a crack. There, lying next to her, was Michael. He was half sitting in a chair pushed next to the bed and half lying with her on the bed, his head resting on her stomach like a pillow. She ran a finger lightly over the deep creases by his eyes, the heavy furrows on his forehead, and then along his jaw. He stirred and looked up at her, startled by the sensation of her fingers on his skin.

"Fi," he whispered in quiet excitement. He sat up and a chill ran through her body at the loss of physical contact with him.

"Hey," she croaked out, her voice hoarse.

He beamed at her, blissfully happy. "Hey," he returned her greeting.

She opened her mouth to ask any of the million questions buzzing through her mind, but her voice would not cooperate.

"Here," he helped her sit up a little and pressed a glass to her lips. The water was cool and soothing as she swallowed it. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he brushed a gentle finger against her lips to silence her. "We're at your mother's house," he started to explain. "Sam, Lucy, and I have been here a week now. We've been working with your brothers on the plan to get you back. Everyone's here and safe. Our plan worked perfectly," he smiled. "We got you back and O'Neill, his men, and the other people at the auction are all dead. We blew up the ship. You'll never have to worry about them again." Her eyes were getting bright and he really wanted to avoid making her cry again, for both their sakes. It broke little pieces of him every time he saw her cry. "It's okay," he kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there.

She slowly snaked an arm up and wrapped it around his neck, pulling him back down so she could look him in the eye. She kissed him with as much strength as she could muster. "Good job, Michael," she breathed into the kiss. "It's wonderful to see I'm finally rubbing off on you."

...

Mrs. Glenanne fussed over Fiona most of the morning. The happy mother helped her daughter with a well-deserved shower and fixed her hair. Fiona was tickled to have her pick of some of her favorite outfits. Her mother threw the jeans and tank top in the laundry basket.

"I'd rather you burned them," Fi mumbled under her breath. Mrs. Glenanne ignored the comment and simply pushed the basket out into the hall.

James drove over on his lunch break with his medical equipment.

"I'm fine," Fiona protested as he shone a light in each of her eyes.

"You've a purple lump the size of a small potato on your forehead, bruises'n'cuts all over your arms, and you've barely been eatin' a meal a day for the last week…you're _not_ fine." He shoved a thermometer under her tongue.

She frowned and rolled her eyes but grudgingly sat on the bed for the rest of the exam.

After receiving a relatively clean bill of health from James, they pulled one of the wing-backed chairs into the kitchen, along with a footstool and Fiona sat with her mother the rest of the day while she cooked and baked every recipe she could think of. There was barely a minute that went by when she was not urging Fiona to either drink more tea or sample the dishes she was preparing.

Michael was avoiding Fiona, avoiding the conversation he knew they needed to have, but he did pass through the kitchen on and off during breaks from packing. He would lift her feet onto his lap so he could sit on the stool and steal sips from her tea. Mrs. Glenanne would cluck at him disapprovingly when she caught him and shoo him back out to the barn so Fiona could get more rest.

Sean also joined them in the kitchen for much of the day. The safety of his sister had been good medicine for him and he felt well enough to walk around and even help a little with the cooking. Granted, he helped more with the eating, but he did manage to stir a few pots. Ryan had invited Sam and Lucy to Dublin to see his club and Sam had happily obliged. Lucy agreed to tag along only after Michael convinced her that now he _really_ owed her and wouldn't mind doing all the packing himself. Rory took the motorcycle back to his apartment, vowing to return in a few days after checking in at work.

It was still light out after everyone had eaten dinner and Fiona was too excited from the conversation to go to sleep early as James suggested. She pointedly asked Michael if he would join her out in the garden. He agreed to go, knowing it might be one of his last chances to talk to her. She wrapped her arms around one of his to lean on him and they walked out away from the house.

"We used to have a big swing back here," she told him. "I don't know if it's still there."

"I think I saw it the other day," he said. "That one?"

She smiled broadly and he led her over to the bench swing nestled under an oak tree surrounded by rose bushes. They sat for a while in silence, just enjoying the fresh air and the sounds of the evening. Her head rested on his shoulder. He held one of her hands in his lap as the swing gently rocked back and forth.

"Fi," he finally spoke, "I…" he wasn't sure how to broach the question he needed to ask. "I was packing earlier, and I wasn't sure if you wanted me to put your boxes with our things from Lucy's company or just bring them into the house for you."

She looked up at him puzzled. "My boxes?"

"Yeah…you know, the things that you shipped from Miami before…before all this… They got here while we were waiting for the ship to arrive."

"Oh," she said quietly, looking back down at her lap.

When she didn't respond further he asked again. "I just didn't know if you were still planning to stay here or if you wanted to come back with us."

"I know," she said. "I just haven't had a chance to think about that yet…not since…" She glanced over at him.

"Yeah."

She sat quietly for a few minutes, just thinking. "Michael, I…I think you know how I feel about the work you're doing with Strickler. I just…I know I can't stop you from doing what you want to do, but I just think it would be better if…"

He couldn't listen to her any longer with out blurting it out. "Strickler's dead." He looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

She leaned away from him and narrowed her eyes, her face asking the question before her mind could even process it. "What?"

Michael looked down at his hands and then back up at her again. "He's dead. I shot him." He reached behind his back to pull out her gun and set it in her lap. "I shot him because he was the one who helped O'Neill find you. Strickler set it up because he didn't think you fit into _his_ plan for _my_ future. After they took you, I figured it out. I went to him, but he wouldn't tell me where you were…so I..." She was fingering the long, lost weapon like it was an old stuffed animal from her childhood. "I shot him with your gun and then Sam and I went to get you."

"But you were too late," she finished for him.

He pressed his lips together and nodded his head in affirmation.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked him. "Strickler was your ticket back in."

He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Fi. I guess I'm back at square one."

She was quiet for a moment, then quietly and sincerely she said, "I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted your old job back."

The empathy in her voice brought pangs of regret to his heart. No matter how much it diverged from what she wanted, Fiona always did her best to support him. It was something he'd never been able to understand about her, her unwavering loyalty towards him. He always wondered what he'd ever done to deserve it.

"Fi, I…I _do_ want my job back. I _do_ want to clear my name. But…I realized, when I was standing there listening to Strickler…what I want more than any of that is to be with you." Her gaze locked onto him and held him, gently but powerfully, until they were the only two living beings in the universe, there on that swing, surrounded by nothing but the darkening sky and more and more twinkling stars. "I realized…I can survive without my job, I can survive without my reputation, but…if I lost you…"

She knew better than to press him to finish that statement. The way his chest was rising and falling in rapid little puffs, the way his eyes were blinking too quickly. She already knew what he was trying to say. She could feel his sentiments radiating off of him so strongly that there was no need for them to be spoken.

"Well, I guess I can't let you go home alone then, can I?" she shifted over to fit into the crook of his arm. He pulled her legs across his lap. "Look at you," she laughed. "You'd be a mess without me."

He smiled happily into her hair. "So you'll come back then?" he mumbled into her scalp.

She leaned back to smile up at him and he thought to himself that she'd never looked more beautiful. "Don't think I have much of a choice now, do I?" She squeezed him, straightened up a bit, and kissed him.

...

After a few more days of relaxation and a few days to let the heat from the international police die down they were almost ready to say goodbye. The day before the plane was scheduled to pick them up and take them back to Miami, the entire Glenanne family gathered at the house to celebrate and see them off. Joseph and James brought their families so the children could meet their mysterious Aunt Fiona who lived in the United States. Sean and Ryan had their girlfriends and Rory brought his furry, canine roommates. Neighbors came by too, and old family friends. Before long it seemed like the whole town was wandering around the old Glenanne farm.

The kitchen was bustling with activity and the barn quickly filled with long tables and a random assortment of chairs cobbled together from various households. The younger nieces and nephews chased the dogs in winding circles around the clusters of adults who stood around exchanging old stories and new stories with equal amounts of enthusiasm. A few of them had brought instruments and started to play around with their favorite songs.

Fiona floated through the crowd all afternoon, receiving more hugs and kisses than she'd ever thought possible. While he tried to stay out of the conversations and at the fringes of the crowd, Michael never let Fiona wander out of sight. Now that he had her back, there was no way he was letting her slip away again.

He was watching her intently while she exchanged fashion advice with Joseph's teenage daughters. The waning sunlight sparkled off her hair and she radiated happiness. She looked younger than she had in years…lighthearted and carefree. If Michael didn't know better, he would have sworn that this Fiona had just walked out of their favorite pub…the one beneath her rundown apartment in Dublin, the one where they used to plan all their operations, the one where they used to eat all of their meals, and the one where they fell in love dancing all night to the jaunty Irish music after any relatively successful mission.

He jumped as Rory came up behind him and punched his shoulder by way of greeting. Michael nodded to him and glanced back at Fiona. Rory's eyes followed Michael's through the crowd. Fiona must have sensed stares because she sent Michael a small smile before turning back to her nieces.

"So," Rory said. "You two really are in love then, aren't ya?"

Michael blushed and stumbled for words. "I…well…"

Rory threw his head back and laughed. "I know, I know. You don't have to explain." They stood quietly for a moment. "I just wanted to tell you thanks, for all you've done for us. It's hard enough livin' everyday with the idea of Fi being off on her own across the pond, but knowing she was in trouble and not being able to do anything…" his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Michael nodded. "I know."

"I wanted to tell you," Rory continued. "We were talkin' earlier, my brothers'n'me, and we agreed…Da would've liked you. He would've been proud to have you as part of the family."

Michael turned to thank him, but Rory had already been pulled off across the way to preside over a drinking contest between Sam and Ryan. He chuckled to himself quietly and turned back to watch Fiona, but she had disappeared among the constantly shifting groups. As he wandered around looking for her, he ran into her mother instead.

"Michael!" she exclaimed happily. "Have you eaten? Please, please, come, I'll make you a plate…"

He assured her he was fine and asked if she'd seen Fiona.

"No," Mrs. Glenanne replied. "But that reminds me…" she patted the pockets of her apron looking for something, then pulled out a small card. "For you," she handed it to him.

He took it from her and looked it over. An angel with a spear, a shield, and an unwavering stoic gaze graced one side. He flipped it over and found the prayer to St. Michael the Archangel on the other.

Mrs. Glenanne reached up and pulled him down by the shoulders until she could reach to plant a kiss on his forehead. "That's just in case," she told him and patted his cheek before wandering off.

He looked again at the painting on the front of the card then glanced up at the rosy evening sky. He smiled upwards in silent thanks and slipped the card into the pocket over his heart.

Turning around he found himself face to face with Sam and Fiona.

"Mike! Here you are," Sam's face was slightly red from all the alcohol he'd just consumed.

"Here I am," Michael greeted them with mock excitement.

"What did my mother want?" Fiona asked.

"Nothing. Just wanted to make sure I'd eaten," he half lied.

"Have you?" she questioned, waving a hand across to the other side of the barn. "There's more food over there than in all of Miami, I think."

"I'm fine," he assured her.

His phone started vibrating in his back pocket. He looked at the ID and answered, "Diego?"

"Michael?" Diego's voice came over the line. "Listen Michael, what the hell is going on? Where are you? What the hell were you doing working with Tom Strickler?"

"Yeah, it's complicated…" Michael started, but was interrupted by Diego's frantic ranting.

"Do you know the kind of people he was in bed with? The kind of stuff he was involved in?"

Michael could hear the panic in his voice. "Diego, calm down," he tried to settle the man who should have known better than to let fear and panic control him. Sam and Fiona watched Michael with concern.

Diego continued his rant, "Do you have any idea what's been going on here? Strickler's dead. He was shot to death. Now someone's in town cleaning up the mess he left behind. I don't know who I can trust. Even at the agency."

"Wait, who's in town?" Michael pressed him for information.

"I don't know," Diego replied. "But I'm being followed, Michael. Someone's coming for me and they're coming for you too. We're not safe. We need to meet…now."

"I can't meet. I'm not…I'm not available," Michael tried to avoid letting him in on the details of his location.

"Damn it, Michael. This is your fault. Why'd you bring me into this?"

"Diego, I…Diego?" Michael listened for a response but the line went dead.

"Mike?" Sam spoke cautiously.

Michael pressed the phone to his temple in frustration. "They found Strickler," he told them. "They know he's dead. Now someone's in Miami trying to clean up after him."

"Do they you were the one who killed him?" Fiona asked.

He looked at her gravely. "I don't know. Diego didn't say. He was panicked, and then the line went dead."

The three friends looked at each other silently, each fully aware of what the others were thinking, knowing full well what would have to happen once they returned to Miami. The party continued to pulse around them, completely unaware of the trouble that was brewing.

"Well, Mikey," Sam tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "Tomorrow we'll fly back, but there's not much we can do for now except enjoy the good food, the good drink, and the good company."

"Yeah, Sam, but my mom…" his voice trailed off.

Sam clapped him on the back, "Let me go talk to Lucy, she can get someone from her company to watch the house until we get back. It'll be fine."

Michael narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth between Sam and Fiona.

"He's right, Michael," she said, slipping under one of his arms and wrapping one of her own around his waist. "There's not much else we can do right now."

"Fine," he nodded. Sam made a beeline for Lucy who was in the middle of the crowd dancing with Rory.

Fiona ran her hand up Michael's back and he pulled her in tightly to his side. "Come on, Michael," she grabbed his hands and pulled him into the crowd of dancers. "Dance with me like you used to when we were in Dublin." He rolled his head from side to side in exasperation so she batted her eyelashes at him. "Please?" she cooed.

He yanked her arms gently and pulled her in to hold her against his chest, their feet began to move slowly but rhythmically to their own music. "We're not in Dublin anymore, Fi," he whispered in her ear.

"No," she grinned up at him, "but it's close enough."

They made slow circles at the edge of the crowd, her head resting lightly against him. One of his hands settled at the small of her back, the fingers of the other hand played tenderly with the hair at the nape of her neck.

"Michael?" she looked up at him.

"Yeah, Fi?" he continued to lead her around absentmindedly in gentle circles.

"Michael, I just…before we go back I wanted you to know that I…" They continued to circle.

He grinned to himself as he realized what she was trying to say. He took one of her hands and held it over her head while he twirled her around without warning.

"Michael!" She gasped at the sudden movement.

He pulled her back in and laid a hand on the side of her face, tracing her hairline with his fingertips. "It's okay," he smiled down at her. "We're no good at this."

**The End**


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